by Tom Marcus
The job is never about jumping over bonnets wearing aviators. It’s always about getting the maximum amount of intelligence without being seen, in order to keep people alive.
It didn’t take long before everyone had confirmed they were on the air.
‘Good morning Green Team,’ Base said. ‘Apologies for the early call out. I know most of you haven’t had much time at home. This is a first look with a view to get immediate Executive Action on a brand-new target that came in last night for Operation ANTEATER. One station so far . . .’
It’s always good practice when briefing over the air to give breaks and check the team are still receiving all the information without signal drop-outs.
‘Team Leader, so far.’
‘The target is SPACE JUNK, details and images have been uploaded to your PDAs. We don’t have a specific location for him yet. You need to find him. Once you do we’ll bring in the Executive Action team that’s on stand by, ready for you.’
Jobs like this are normally quick and clean.
‘Overnight intelligence is showing that SPACE JUNK intends to firebomb a local school. Last known location was in the area of the university and Edge Hill to the east. We’ll update you as more comes in. Base out.’
‘Team Leader, roger. Everyone to the last known area and we’ll split the team, half on foot, half in vehicles.’
Switching my PDA on, I searched through the target list until I found SPACE JUNK’s file. I could see he was white, twenty-two years old, with a large scar down the right side of his face. There were no known vehicles attached to him, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be driving or be a passenger. With him being a brand-new target and this a first look, it just meant he hadn’t got a driving licence, vehicles registered in his name or registered to the addresses he was associated with.
Once the initial flurry of transmissions were over, the radio went silent, like technical tumbleweed. I hated the quiet radio on long drives, feeling isolated from the team. It was a relief to reach the Liverpool area.
‘Bravo One Zero is in the area of Edge Hill now.’
Emma, as most bikers normally are, was first into the area and searching. Today we had her as well as Ryan on this operation. This target was obviously being thought of as a terrorist, otherwise we wouldn’t be getting involved. The intelligence officers would know all the details from all the different reports that constantly came across their desks. The information given to our team was thin, but to be honest it didn’t matter. We didn’t need to know the ins and outs of who SPACE JUNK was affiliated to or his ideology at this point. If it was a long-term operation then we would have detailed briefings but right here and now we had his picture. That was enough for us to hunt him down and prevent him trying to kill children.
It wasn’t long before the rest of us slid into the area. Being December, it was still dark and would be for a while, but the place was starting to wake up with people travelling early to work. Soon the school runs would begin. The streets were soaking wet from the hard rain driving down.
‘Charlie Nine Six Eight is in the area, checking the western part of Edge Hill.’
When we roll into a neighbourhood, especially one as tight as this, we need to search in a way that doesn’t light the area up. No normal person clocks a vehicle or person on the street at first sight unless they are doing something out of the ordinary, but if you start doubling back, taking corners too quickly, engine revs too high or speed too slow it all raises your profile to the locals. It’s the same when you’re on foot checking, you can’t be constantly swivelling left to right like a bobble head on speed.
Spotting the chance to cover a major junction, after first checking the side streets for anyone who vaguely looked like SPACE JUNK, I pulled over just short of a cafe that some local builders were already making good use of.
As I waited near the counter for my greasy sausage and egg cob and cheap coffee, I took the opportunity to glance at the five builders in there. None of them were the target. Watching the street through the window while listening to these guys debate football, I caught sight of one of our team cars driving past, still searching. They had spotted my car parked up.
‘Zero Six, have you got the junction of Grove Street and Lowe Hill?’
I gave the reply for yes used in situations when we are unable to talk openly and got a quick reply. ‘Roger the yes yes, I’ll hold further north towards the hospital.’
‘Team Leader, roger. All stations, we’ll take up static positions now and wait for him to come to us or Base to offer something up. When it gets busier we’ll start roaming again.’
‘Sausage and egg. Brown sauce?’
‘Ta.’
Having already paid, and despite being in the North, I didn’t offer anything else up in terms of a reply. It wasn’t needed. Sitting at a table at the back of the cafe furthest away from the window, I watched the world go by outside, knowing that anyone walking past would spot the group of builders in front of me but would be unlikely to notice or even be able to see me without coming in.
Making use of the paper in front of me, I flicked through, taking my time with the food and coffee. Still nothing. Sometimes you don’t need to even directly observe what’s going on – just being in tune with the people around you can highlight when someone has walked in or the mood changes for the worse.
‘Stations, quick update from Base. We don’t have any associated known targets of SPACE JUNK and no technical assets in play.’
Fuck, where was he? I glanced out of the window again. A man was walking past in a black parka but he was too old to be our target.
‘STAND BY STAND BY from Eight Six, I have control of SPACE JUNK walking west on Falkner Square near the park. Green jacket, black trousers, carrying a grey rucksack, which looks full.’
Karen had caught him. I’d already started to take my last bite as soon as I heard the first stand by. Walking normally, I left the cafe and got into my car, driving away around the block then getting on the power to make sure Karen had the support she needed. The whole team were trying to get in on this.
‘Base, roger. Executive Action is now five minutes out.’
As I closed in, listening to Karen’s commentary on SPACE JUNK, I could see some of our team on foot ready to assist with the follow. Meanwhile, Base was giving countdowns on the arrival of the armed police team.
‘From Eight Six, SPACE JUNK is now running towards the junction of Upper Duke Street, five zero metres short.’
‘From Base, there are several schools in this immediate area, Executive Action is two minutes out.’
‘Eight Six, you can let him run to the junction – I’m there now.’
‘Roger. Thank you, Six Eight, all yours.’
Mark being ahead at the junction had prevented the need for Karen to start running after SPACE JUNK.
‘Six Eight has control, SPACE JUNK still running towards Upper Duke Street, this is westbound. He’s got one arm behind him trying to support his rucksack, which looks like it’s wet at the bottom.’
‘Base, roger, I’m relaying your comms now to the strike team, please keep it constant.’
‘Six Eight, roger that. SPACE JUNK is across the junction now on the south side still running west on Upper Duke Street with the large trees of the park to his left.’
Mark’s constant commentary was vital to the strike team nailing the target quickly. I was in a position behind Karen, ready to pick her up if she needed it, when the first of the police vehicles came barrelling past, no lights or sirens, but extremely quick. Mark kept it coming.
‘SPACE JUNK is still westbound, trying to stop the rucksack from bouncing on his back, running on the south side, past the bus stop two zero metres from the junction of Rodney Street.
‘Base, SPACE JUNK hasn’t seen the first strike vehicle coming at him from the west, he’s just run past the police undercover car parked up on the north side.’
Obviously this guy was so focused on what he was about to
do that he’d missed the two armed police officers in black kit in an unmarked BMW, and hadn’t noticed the headlights screaming towards him.
‘Stations, from Six Eight, Executive Action team now out on foot taking control of target. Base, I will keep eyes on until he’s definitely secure.’
‘Roger, thanks, talking to their team commander now.’
Two more vehicles, now with sirens and lights, came blasting past as I eased into a space in a row of parked cars just in front of Karen. She got into the car without any fuss and we went through the fake show of smiles and friendliness as I pulled out and took the first turning right, wanting to move out of sight. Normally the strike teams like to come in fast and leave with the target quickly but once they have control we never stick around, just in case the locals turn investigative journalists.
‘From Six Eight, SPACE JUNK is being plasti-cuffed on the floor, backpack removed. Team Leader, I’m lifting off this, they have control.’
‘Job done.’ I nodded to Karen, whose smile turned to a scowl when she noticed my dirty top.
‘Is that brown sauce? You had breakfast, ya fucker?!’
I was laughing from the pit of my stomach as Karen directed me back to her car.
‘All in the name of living my cover.’
‘Bollocks, you fat bastard!’
Karen’s banter was interrupted by an update from the base back in Thames House operations room: ‘Green Team, cease and withdraw, happy to do the debrief on air to get you all home quicker. Is that OK, Team Leader?’
‘Yes yes, all stations acknowledge down the list and foot crews call up when you are complete with your vehicles again.’
The team responded to the cease and withdraw order from Base as I dropped Karen off at her car and drove out of the area on streets I hadn’t used yet this morning. I saw Emma in my mirrors as I came to a stop at a set of red lights. I knew she’d spotted my car when she peeled off right, taking a different route to me to avoid moving in a convoy of surveillance vehicles. Even when the threat of a target is removed we still make sure we blend in. It doesn’t stop. The operational awareness is engrained into us so much that it consumes our thought processes every waking minute, and most sleeping ones too.
‘Green Team from Base, debrief commencing at 0906 hours on Operation ANTEATER. One station acknowledge?’
‘Team Leader, roger.’
‘Thank you. SPACE JUNK is now in police custody. I’ve spoken with their command and the backpack he was carrying was full of petrol bombs. He’s already started to talk about the intended target of non-white children and, I quote, “Fucking paki cunts and their rats, they should burn.” I’ll spare you the rest.’
It’s not very often we get terrorists who fall into the bracket of white supremacist, and racism falls under the remit of the police. But this guy wanted to kill children because they weren’t white and by the sounds of it he wanted to do so to further his own ideology. We prevented that. Right now, these children were bouncing into school looking for their favourite friend, wondering what their parents had put in their lunchboxes, some so young they had only just started full days. They were blissfully unaware that a top-secret operation which had begun while they were asleep was brought to an end just metres from the school gates.
Once the debrief had ended, I had nothing to do except drive and think. The time to think is an operator’s worst enemy. We deal with the world’s shit so no one else has to see it. Somehow we need to find a way to process it and move on, but for me that was easier said than done. As usual my mind was dwelling on all the what ifs. What if we hadn’t found SPACE JUNK? What if he got away from us? How much damage would he have done? It strikes much harder when kids are in danger. During the operation itself the team will be as clinical and focused as always, but dealing with the after effects is tough.
I was held at a set of red lights on a major junction about an hour from home and my son’s nursery school, thinking that hopefully I’d be in time to meet Lucy there and watch his first nativity.
The sky suddenly gets darker. A storm must be on the way and I’m probably right under a massive raincloud. The driver of the car in front is getting impatient, head turning from one set of lights to the other, both stuck on red for what feels like forever.
Light flashes across my view straight into the car in front, from the driver’s side to the passenger side. What the . . . ? More flashes. Then the noise. FUCK. The sound of gunfire is unmistakable, deafening. The driver is down as the rounds continue to rip into the car on full auto. No sign of the gunman yet.
‘SHOTS FIRED SHOTS FIRED, ZERO SIX!’ Fuck, the radios are down.
The car in front starts to catch fire.
There’s a truck directly behind me, no chance of reversing out of there. As the flames lick their way around the outside of the car, faster and higher, I feel pure fear. Get out, get out now! Pulling at the door handle, I realize it’s broken. If I don’t do something I’ll die here. I’ve got to assume they are coming for me. Headlights on full beam from the truck fill my mirrors as a motorbike coming from the right slams into the car in front, sending the rider right over the top to be instantly hit by an oncoming vehicle.
The bike is embedded in the car, surrounded by flames. Screams from pedestrians drown everything out apart from the constant sound of a car horn.
Either I’m about to get hit or someone else is going to be killed; I can’t let either happen. I pull at my seat belt but it’s stuck. The flashing headlights, the constant horn, fire, screams, they are all blending into one. I can’t get out. The headlights are so bright they are overpowering the darkness created by the clouds. Too bright, too loud, the light and noise burning into my head, searing pain like a nail being driven into my temple. In that split second I question whether I’ve been hit by the gunman I haven’t identified yet. Is that what the pain is?
Knock knock knock on the window. ‘Excuse me, you OK?’
‘AARRGGGHHHHH!’ I screamed at the overweight pensioner using his walking stick to tap on my driver’s side window. He recoiled back in his mobility scooter. What the fuck was he thinking? He should be finding somewhere to hide.
Another beep and flash of the headlights from the truck behind me. I turned my head and saw it lurch forward towards my car, trying to push me on. I tried my seat belt again and it popped straight away. Make your move now. I prayed the door handle would work this time, otherwise I’d be going out of the window. It did. Flying out of the car, I hit the pavement, looking for the threat. People were everywhere. Spinning around, I thought, If I can make myself the focus of fire it could help save the people around me.
No one is running. Why are they still here? Wait. Why are they looking at me?
I tried to get my bearings while shooting pains sparked across my head, leaving little trails of light in my vision. I could see the truck manoeuvring around my car as the driver leaned out of his window. ‘You fucking wanker,’ he shouted, giving me the hand gesture to back up his statement.
The people on the street were walking past me as a long line of traffic moved past my car. There was no burning vehicle, no crashed motorbike, no gunman. Nothing.
There was only normality there. My heart rate was through the roof and I felt sick and dizzy.
Getting back in my car just as the traffic lights flicked to green, I drove away from the carnage that never was. Control your breathing. Slow it down. I wasn’t sure what was happening, except I had imagined everything I’d just seen. Bury it. It didn’t happen.
I used the next hour or so to try and reassure myself that I was OK. I knew where I was and what had just happened was a daydream of sorts. I arrived at my son’s school just in time. Running in, I looked like a scruffy dad, still in my operational kit and clothes, but it didn’t really matter, Lucy would be happy I was there. Her eyes lit up as I walked into the small school hall, which was already filled with waiting parents. She had saved me a seat, just in case.
‘You made it!’
/>
The smile on Lucy’s face instantly put me at peace.
As nativity plays go, it was fairly standard. Teachers were sitting at the side of a small makeshift stage with the lines, ready to help the little ones out when they forgot and corral any toddlers who tried to make a run for it. My son was a shepherd, wearing a costume made from a sheet, with a tea-towel on his head. Whenever he looked our way Lucy and I would wave and give him a thumbs up. He was growing up fast and despite me wanting to devote every waking second I had to my family, I felt I had no choice but to be with the team as well. What we did today and always do is important. We keep people alive.
I was watching my son’s face as he absorbed the other children around him when a small window behind us slammed shut, making a few of the parents jump. I was one of them. Lucy looked instantly quizzical. I don’t jump. Normally. Reaching for my hand, she squeezed it to offer reassurance. Instinctively, she must have known I wasn’t in balance. Although I never talked to her about what was happening on the job, the fact she had been in Special Operations in Northern Ireland meant she had a broad sense of what my work entailed.
Fuck. My eyes welled up just as the nativity came to an end. Swallow it Tom, don’t let this control you. You’re OK.
I wasn’t. I couldn’t let my family see something was wrong, that I wasn’t coping with the things I was seeing.
There were tears streaming down my face as all the parents stood up and headed towards the stage.
‘I’m so proud of you, you were the best shepherd I’ve ever seen!’ Giving my son a big cuddle, I lifted him up to look at his smiling face. His hand rubbed my cheek.
‘Daddy, your face is wet.’
Forcing the biggest smile I could muster, I passed him to Lucy. One of the other parents rubbed my shoulder.
‘It gets me every time too,’ she said.
‘He’s always like this, a big softy!’ Lucy replied as I used my sleeves to wipe the tears from my face. The fake smile was fixed firmly until I’d regained control.
